


Black Ink

by cherryjam (blueskull)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot, Art, Drabble, F/M, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Selectively Mute Main Character, amaurot fic, spoilers for emet's true name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskull/pseuds/cherryjam
Summary: His drawings are clear, precise, technical, with straight lines, devoid of colour.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 20





	Black Ink

His drawings are clear, precise, technical, with straight lines, devoid of colour. Hers are whimsical, wispy things, assuming she even keeps to them. And the _colours_ \--

Some he barely knew existed, an amalgamation of shades and hues that shimmers just like her airborne letters with starbursts. The strange creatures, fantastical as they are, clearly concepts of some kind, seemed to all but leap off the page. In fact, he _wants_ them to. He wants those colours to stain his eyelids like spilled ink, so he might perhaps see what _she_ sees.

If she had the mind to, she could likely simply breathe life into the parchment.

In contrast to his lifeless, boring _buildings_ \--

His canvas seems terribly plain near hers, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away. His utensil all but forgotten, palm against his cheek, Hades watches from the corners of his eyes as she continues to work. The hood obscures most of her face, but he is sure that should she turn just enough, he would be able to see the tiny smile that seems affixed to her lips.

She seems to be drawing a scene of some sort; flowy creatures, almost like some sort of -- dog or cat, minus the strange protrusion from its head. And -- clouds? He can make out figures, and what he thinks to be water, and the stars in the sky -- he wants to ask her what it is, so she might describe the spectacle in her own words, tell him what it is those vibrant colours mean to her. Though of course, none of them come even close to the hues that ensconce her like a blanket.

“Something on your mind?”

Golden eyes harden into a glare as Hades finally lifts his head from his palm to stare at his friend. Hythlodaeus’ pale mask peers down at him as he places a hand on his hip. The rest of the room is filled with quiet chatter and the scratch of pencils or brushes upon paper.

“Not that I can say. And you? Have you finished your artwork?” His voice is supposed to be inconspicuous, but unfortunately he catches Persephone’s attention anyway. She looks up from her canvas, her green gaze flicking between the two of them.

> _Is something wrong?_

The twist of her mouth and the light in her gaze is quizzical.

“Oh, no, we were just discussing -- Hyth’s piece. I’m certain he’d like to show it to us later.” Hades’ smile is easy as he turns toward her. He somehow manages to steel himself from the smirk that threatens to twist his expression. “Have you finished yours?”

> _Oh, yes, but..._

The enthusiasm seems to die. She looks away from him even as the rest of her statement continue to form. Her gaze falls to his canvas, and looks toward her own.

> _It is silly..._

The words are thin and smokey, colours muted and pale. They nearly dissolve before he can even read them. Whilst her strange quirk of speech might have confounded him at times, he finds himself grateful for it this time. He could never mistake it as her talking about _his_ artwork. Even though he wants to. What on earth is she talking about?

“N -- “ Hades starts, stops, exhales, tries to avoid coming across like an over-eager imbecile. “Not at all.” The smile he gives her is vaguely sickly. He feels ill. There really must be something wrong with him. He lifts one hand in a gesture he hopes is reassuring, though she is not looking at him. “Yours is, ah, nice. Not silly. Certainly not something I would have drawn...”

He almost thinks that statement makes things worse. Her shoulders shrug slightly beneath the cloak.

> _I do think yours are more interesting than mine, Hades. I could never draw such detailed architecture..._

Hades lifts a hand to scratch irritably at his cheek, just below his mask. He suddenly wishes Hythlodaeus were far, far away from their stations. He clears his throat.

“How about we agree to disagree, then? I clearly think yours to be more than satisfactory, while for some reason you think the same of mine.”

Funny, however. He’d always been proud of his artwork. Of course he still is, on some level. He knows what he’s good at, after all. And yet --

For some reason, he cannot help but feel like it is nothing like _hers_ , so...

Perhaps she must feel the same? She had seemed so _excited_ about this earlier, after all...and after looking at her written speech for so long, he can’t help but associate the blooms of hues to contented happiness, as if she had been pleased with what she had drawn whilst creating it. Surely she _must_ like it.

Perhaps he’ll ask later, when Hyth is gone, and ask her to explain her strange, pretty scene. Perhaps she’ll be able to bring colour to his black ink.


End file.
